


The Art of Duplicity

by silhouette (thiefless)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Future Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pining, Plot Twists, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Resurrected Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Truth Serum, Villain Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefless/pseuds/silhouette
Summary: "Do it, then, Mr. Stark." Peter pressed his forehead firm against Iron Man's repulsor. He closed his eyes, blank and neutral, like he hadn't just ripped out Tony's heart and tried to choke him with it. "Kill me."---Alternatively: Tony is resurrected just in time to see Peter Parker become the brand-new supervillain on the block.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 45
Kudos: 328





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just came to me and wouldn't let go. Peter is aged up in this fic (he was 22 in IW/Endgame and so is 27 in this fic).
> 
> Warning because there's violence that may or may not be graphic depending on your tolerance, so I erred on the side of caution.
> 
> Any mistakes are my own. Hope you guys enjoy.

It was a miserable day in June, the day Tony Stark drew breath after five years of deathless nothingness – a bland imitation of the rest he'd been promised. 

(He was too late. Five years too late.)

Oh, and Spider-Man was apparently the universe's leading contender for Earth's Greatest Supervillain. As if his resurrection could get any worse. That was Murphy's Law in action: _anything that can go wrong, will go wrong_ – and that should really be his trademark from now on. That wasn't copyrighted, was it? Tony was a scientist; he deserved a science idiom. He’d have Pepper look into that sometime after he'd finished avoiding the unavoidable. 

Fuck. He was now resorting to procastination as a poor delay tactic. He'd never been a procrastinator. Tony preferred to be in the know, firmly in control – omniscient, like God (except not God because that wasn't doing his narcissism any favours). Even in his thoughts, he was unable to come to terms with this new world.

God, how he wanted a drink; how he craved for the distraction of liquor. An escape from the mess his death created, and the hollow emptiness that never left.

* * *

"Last time I checked; I was donating my body to science. _Wakandan_ science. Not weird multi-verse, Quentin Beck science,” were the first words out of his mouth once plaintive introductions had been had. He didn't bother tagging _no offence_ at the end. 

Give him a break – he’d just risen from the dead.

His skin crawled involuntarily when Beck appraised him, raking his gaze all over Tony's form, as though drinking him in. Tony resisted the urge to fidget beneath the weighted stare. He was used to being objectified by many a fan and foe alike, but there was dark and... _gleeful_ about the way this new superhero looked at him. Something complex passed over his face, and Tony had neither the tools nor the mental faculties to decipher it.

Tony knew one thing for certain: the only person he'd give implicit permission to look at him was Peter. The rest could go hang. Starting with this guy.

"Hey, Jack Twist. Not that I'm not flattered, but you're kinda sucking up my oxygen. Lay off a little bit.” Ah, and there was his signature charm. Good to know death hadn't erased it.

Beck, or Mysterio, or whatever the fuck his name was, pursed his lips tightly, profoundly irritated apparently, before smoothing his expression into one resembling a degree of normalcy. Nevertheless, he didn’t hesitate before falling over himself in his haste to explain what had come to pass. Tony always knew he possessed a larger-than-life persona, and that the next big superhero after him would be saddled with preceding his reputation (which was why Tony made his choice known, loud and clear), but it was all a bit much. The words that fell from Mysterio's lips were cloying, sickly sweet and honeyed; far too much so. 

The resemblance to his old employee, the one with the deranged grin and the bouts of mania, was uncanny. Scarily accurate, in fact. When Tony nodded his acquiescence at Mysterio's proposed hypothesis for his impromptu resurrection, the indecipherable gleam in Beck's eyes shone too bright.

Pep was happy, a beautiful smile adorning her features, as she expanded on the post-Tony Stark life she’d always deserved to live. Mark was every bit the man Pepper deserved, and Tony felt none of the irrational jealousy he anticipated upon meeting him. Watching Mark parade around with Morgan, though, was a bitter pill to swallow; the way Mark praised Morgan's achievements, the unmistakable pride colouring his goddamn voice had Tony clenching his fists so hard they were bloodless.

Because... that was _Tony's_ job. Maybe it was the narcissist in him, but part of him truly thought he was irreplaceable. Five years after the fact, though, and he was placed with the cold hard truth: he was no more special than any one. The world had moved on, and showed no signs of stopping and letting him catch his breath before he– 

Tony jerked away, the tell-tale panic seizing his chest, all but tearing his ribcage apart like it was made of straw, hand fisting around his heart and _squeezing_.

The Avengers – the ragtag band of messed up individuals who somehow always pulled through despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary – were fractured. Most were gone: Steve had passed away about a year before Tony woke up; Clint had now officially retired; Wanda had gone rogue, and no one had seen or heard anything from her. Sam and the Winter Soldier were doing their best to hold everything together with Band-Aids, but there was nothing to hold on to. And who the fuck knew what Thor was doing with those crazies up in space?

The life Tony had once known, had once been _a part of_, was gone. Rendered null and void. The end of an era. 

Enter: the dawn of techno-terrorism.

All of that, though, paled in comparison to the truth concerning Peter Parker.

It was Fury who told him, in low tones so as not to frighten him. It was obnoxious and pretentious, and Tony would be rallying against the stark condescension were he not so consumed in abject horror at the atrocities Spider-Man has tallied over the years. The guilt took a momentary backseat while he tried to process this, before swallowing him whole.

Dimly, Tony remembered a time when Loki was the worst thing he'd ever faced. When a nuke and a wormhole were the only nightmares suffocating his every thought, bleeding into his reality.

The kid he'd mentored all those long years ago – and to think, they'd only been together for two years before the whole universe went to shit; for the first time anyway – was now apparently sitting a trial in absentia for crimes against humanity. 

Tony had protested vehemently when he found out, to everyone whether they listened or not. It was all in vain; Spider-Man's crimes were far too heinous to go unpunished and, given his propensity for cool vanishing acts, they had not yet been able to physically catch him. 

Was it wrong that Tony breathed a sigh of relief at that, even after absorbing all the knowledge of what his protégé had done in the years succeeding his death? He'd all but ruined Tony's image, tainting his hard-won legacy, and besmirching all the morals he'd once stood for. Yet all Tony could feel was a deep comfort at the fact that Peter hadn't been found. 

Yeah. There had to be something wrong with him. But Tony'd known that going in, it wasn't news to him.

* * *

Rhodey was even busier than he was five years ago (to Tony, five minutes). Between his role as Vice President, and aiding Mysterio in leading what remained of the Avengers, he hadn't had the time to spend catching Tony up with the world. Spider-Man was a national threat, and everybody was on high alert for his next attack – none more so than Rhodey. Although, apparently, War Machine was rapidly closing in on Peter’s location. Tony didn’t know how to feel about that, so he refused to process it.

(There was never a mention of Happy, or May. Tony stopped asking. Sometimes a lie was preferable.)

Tony fiercely shut down the suffocating guilt and regret that threatened to asphyxiate him when he pictured Peter's smiling face, grinning at him so beautifully (a decade ago now), performing these savage acts. Report after report flooded every news outlet, with none as superior than the Daily Bugle – _they always had it out for Peter_, Tony thought viciously, before tampering his display of defence – and Tony listened in silent damnation, vodka bottle clutched in his fists like a lifeline.

Tony laughed to nothing and no one, at the spot in his lab where Peter Parker once resided, and tried not to crumble under the weight of silence.

* * *

A few days, Tony pressed for details on his mentee’s actions.

"Tony, he tried to _kill Morgan_," Pepper confided to him. His heart just about stopped. Because – that was it, wasn't it? The final straw? The deciding factor? 

Whoever that was: it wasn't Peter. 

Because Spider-Man was Tony's hero. The hero to end all heroes. He wasn't; couldn't be _this_. What the media were vilifying him as, slandering his good name and crucifying him on some heresy. 

(_Except it isn't heresy_, a small, traitorous part of him hissed, like the devil, in his ear. _There are countless witnesses. Dozens of crimes. Peter Parker is gone. _

_You ruined him._

Kinda hard to argue with that. Tony broke everything he touched. He wasn't the fixer of broken things – he was the purveyor of destruction. The Merchant of Death. Supposed it was about time he destroyed Peter, although he hadn't anticipated the fallout to be quite so spectacular.

That was his mistake.)

The infamous Pepper Potts was close to tears. Because of Peter. That was enough to make him choke. "He killed his best friends. Tony – the things he's done.” Brokenly, “I’m _scared_ of him.”

Later that night, fuelled by nothing more than a rather generous helping of liquid courage, Tony finally pressed play on the videos of Spider-Man's heinous acts. One by one, the reports came rolling in, each one relaying a more gruesome act than the other. Tony struggled not to gag at the gore at the unnecessary level of violence. Spider-Man rivalled the adventures of Barton's Ronin days, except Ronin never killed innocents. And Peter was using _Stark_ technology to perform these terrorist atrocities. Technology _Tony_ had given him.

Nauseating guilt was Tony's constant companion these days.

* * *

Reuniting with his daughter, with his flesh and blood, almost made up for the horrors in the past he hadn't experienced. (Tony overlooked the hesitance, the way she clung to Pepper's leg when she was first brought in; how it was only Mark's comforting words that brought _his daughter_ out of her shell. He had plenty of time to obsessively analyse his poor self-worth somewhere private. He wouldn't self-destruct in front of Morgan; refused to do that to her.)

“Daddy!”

Tony barely had time to brace for impact before his arms were full of Morgan Stark.

“Hey, Maguna. You miss me?”

Something dark and twisted unfurled in him when he felt Morgan nod against his chest. Tony ran a tender hand through her hair – _so much longer than when he’d last seen her – _and allowed his breath to catch up with him.

Morgan was his best creation yet, and he could never regret her. She was the light of his life, his reason for getting up each morning and living in a world Peter Parker did not.

Tony tried, he really did, to move on from Peter, and to make things work with Pep. He'd retired Iron Man, bought a nice, cosy house by a lake, and transformed himself into an unashamed work husband. 

Too bad his issues never got the memo.

He shook his head, dispelling those memories. Instead, he smiled a genuine beam at Morgan, and offered to watch the latest rendition of the _Toy Story_ saga with her. At least some things never changed. His heart felt light for the first time in years (_weeks? Months? Does it even matter?_) when, at the end of the evening just before Pep came to pick her up, she sleepily mumbled, “I love you three-thousand,” into his Black Sabbath shirt.

* * *

After a brief respite from his heart-breaking reality to ‘recuperate’, Tony was called in once more.

Fury said: _We need you, Stark._

Mysterio concurred. Tony tried not to focus on the enthusiasm too much. The guy was obviously a fan. 

After the events of Ti- of _Titan_, Tony swore he'd never don his Iron Man guise. Since his pledge, he'd participated in Scott's Time Heist and personally vanquished the genocidal grape-head and his band of wannabe Death Eaters, so his promise didn't mean much. Of course, Tony had worn his nanotech suit to save Peter, and then to protect... and now– 

And now Iron Man was commissioned to arrest him. 

Blood roared in his ears: vibrant, metallic red. 

(Some truly awful, heinous part of him, though, was just ravenous to catch a glimpse of the kid Tony himself would commit genocide for.)

The plan was to plant Tony in Spider-Man's path. The newly reformed SHIELD, the reformation had come courtesy of Mysterio and his otherworldly contributions to the organisation, had received intel as to his next known movements. Tony didn't know how to react to the knowledge that Peter's plans were so predictable; that he was so easy to suss out.

* * *

SHIELD had orders to shoot on sight. 

So did Tony.

* * *

His mission was to hang back, and only engage if necessary. SHIELD didn’t want to compromise Iron Man, even if he felt less and less like a hero the longer Peter donned his new lifestyle.

And then a crash, and a bang and _then_–

The breath was punched out of his lungs, leaving him wanting.

The whirring of nanotech shorted the circuits of Tony's brain. He'd recognise that sound anywhere; he knew all his creations like the back of his hand, but none more so than the Iron Spider. 

Peter looked positively resplendent, decked out in red and blue nanotech finery, the Iron Spider glinting as dangerous and predatory as its bearer. Bullets ricocheted off the armour, bounding around the walls, yet Spider-Man stood proud and tall amongst his lessers, the smell of gunpowder putrefying the air. 

(For just a flash of a second, a similar memory came crawling, unbidden, into Tony's mind – of the birth of Iron Man in an Afghan cave, metal untempered by the pounding of gunfire. The comparison made him dizzy, and he struggled not to gag.)

The mask hadn't yet receded. Tony wasn't sure whether that was for the better. In all honesty, he didn't think he could carry out this mission if he had to stare down the cold brown eyes of Peter Parker; yet his selfish amorality cried out in indignation at not being able to drink in the sight of the man he'd mourned for five painful years. 

Peter hadn't noticed the Iron Man suit, red and gold a glaring juxtaposition against the darkness of the disused HYDRA lab, but then again, he wasn't really paying much attention to his surroundings; so indefatigable on his primary goal. It was smart. Tony knew how his spidey sense worked – how it waited until the very last second to warn him of an impending attack. Why bother keeping focus when your body already had an in-built protection system?

His heart gave a traitorous leap at seeing Peter wearing the suit Tony specifically made for him, the nanotech that Tony's hands had wired, and _god_ if this wasn't an appropriate time for possessive thoughts. Yeah, his brain should really change the channel before he did something he'd regret.

He was snapped back to the present by a choked groan. Peter was a force to be reckoned with in battle, a fact Tony had never really appreciated before. The kid was hesitant about displaying his full strength, even in the lab, and so to see Peter so willing to exhibit his powers against his foes was a startling reality check. Not that Peter was aiming to murder, but rather to incapacitate. Tony was sickeningly certain he'd heard the snapping of bones.

Running on pure instinct, Tony retracted his faceplate, gazing upon the Spider armour with his own eyes. Peter's name was torn from his lips unconsciously, a breathless confession laced with regret, yet dipped in longing. 

"Underoos," Tony called against his better judgement, a grim mockery of that airport in Germany a lifetime ago. 

Spider-Man dropped the agent like he was nothing, turned around, and then it was just Peter and Tony. Peter kept his faceplate up, and even the mask's normally expressive eyes belied nothing, as though Peter had adopted his own mask. 

"Oh, great. Gold star for originality, Beck," Peter drawled, mechanical due to the armour, much to Tony's bewilderment. "Really – Tony Stark again?"

There was so much about that sentence – specifically how it was phrased, the accusing _again_, and all that was left unspoken in the subtext – but Tony pushed all that to one side for now. And then Peter retracted the Iron Spider, and Tony's higher brain function fizzled out. 

Truly, it had to be illegal how just one measly glimpse of Peter Parker sent shockwaves pulsating up and down his spine. 

The face that stared back at him was a cruel facsimile of the overabundant enthusiasm that had laced Peter's face before. Exile did not agree with him. His brow was laden in frown lines, big brown eyes as hard and unyielding as rock. His forehead was damp with exertion, the only noticeable strain from taking down the SHIELD masses single-handedly. 

But underneath all that... he was simply, ludicrously _Peter_. The kid Tony'd stupidly fallen in love with, and the kid Tony'd lost. 

And suddenly, that was all that mattered.

“Go home, _Mr. Stark_.” The venom in his words made Tony flinch. Peter's biting words drew him back to the here and now.

"What– you gonna kill me?" Tony retorted, choked.

For a second there, Peter's carefully constructed mask slipped. Tony glimpsed the utterly broken glint that scarred his expression; the crestfallen slant of his brows, and the godawful vulnerability that made tears spring into Peter's eye. But then Tony blinked and the moment snapped. The façade was erected once more, steely walls firmly encapsulating the man Tony loved. 

"I will if I have to."

Tony bit down on the urge to weep uncontrollably, because, well this was it. The death of Peter Parker here and now. 

God, he wished the kid hadn't taken down his mask. Selfishly, he could pretend that it wasn't really Peter (_his_ Peter, that possessive part of his brain supplied, and for once Tony wasn't going to argue) in there, that it was just some random who'd taken control of the suit and parading around as Spider-Man. That would make Tony's job easier. 

But, he thought bitterly as he raised his repulsor, when did life ever grant him his desires?

"If you don't stop, then I'll have to stop you."

Underneath: _Please don't make me, please, please, please, Peter._

Peter acted blasé about this turn of events, even seeming bored by it. Maybe he knew how superfluous Tony's threat was, how utterly enthralled Tony was for him, in spite of the blood that splattered the Spider-Man red. 

"Do it, then, Mr. Stark." Peter pressed his forehead firm against Iron Man's repulsor. He closed his eyes, blank and neutral, like he hadn't just ripped out Tony's heart and tried to choke him with it. "Kill me."

As if there was a reality in any universe where Tony could.

Tony lowered his hand as if he were in a trance, hypnotised by the eyes of the person he knew he'd never stop loving. 

"Peter..."

Tony didn't know what he was going to say, but nevertheless, his trailing was abruptly cut off by the incessant press of Peter's lips against his own.

Peter set a demanding pace: harsh and firm and unyielding. Warm tongue licking its way across Tony's bottom lip, waiting for Tony to grant access, before resuming its bruising intensity. Tony had the sense that the kiss was punishing him – for dying, for leaving, for just not being on Peter's side. Their noses bumped, teeth clanking together as Peter tried to devour him. It was inexperienced, lacking in grace and finesse, yet Tony couldn't find it within him to care.

This wasn't the kiss that headlined a great many of Tony's dreams and daylight fantasies, but it was the greatest kiss he'd ever received because it was all Peter.

Peter took a step back, sharp eyes calculating Tony's flustered demeanour. Whatever he saw made him chuckle darkly. "Beck, if you wanted a kiss all you had to do was say so." 

_What? _

Before Tony could summon some semblance of rational thought after having just had his brains snogged out – and maybe invite an emotion that wasn't confused jealousy at _why the hell was Peter kissing Beck_ – Peter punched him out cold.


	2. The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I am really sorry it's taken me two months to update this. I genuinely have no excuse. 
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for my absence.

When Tony came to, his wrists were bound behind him in iron chains. Iron, not vibranium, which was a shock, until Tony reasoned that, being on the run and all, Peter didn't have time for a quick stop in Wakanda. Voices permeated through Tony's concussed mind, jarring and uncomfortable. They weren't speaking to him, though, for which Tony was grateful for small mercies. He wasn't up to receiving visitors, not unless they were–

Peter. 

He flinched against his restraints.

They were in the disused Avengers compound, Tony realised with a jolt. 

This was... _Tony's_ room. 

Bed: unmade. 

Fuck. Peter Parker asleep in his bed, scent mingled on his sheets, cocooned within his covers. Of all the reasons why he had imagined that scenario – and there were many gloriously inappropriate reasons – he certainly never accounted for this one. Which, coming from an acclaimed futurist, was saying something.

On the subject of total surprises, it was a shock to the system to see _Happy_ standing beside Peter. Happy was on several global missing lists, everybody thought he was _dead_. And all this time he was –

Tony got the feeling something was horribly, terribly amiss. Nothing felt right ever since he came back. The whole mess tasted sour in his mouth.

Happy handed a vial of something clear to Peter, back turned away from Tony. “Managed to nab this off Lang's chatty friend.”

“Thanks, Hap.” Peter smiled; small, curvaceous, yet so heartbreakingly genuine it made Tony’s heart rattle. “You should get outta here before Beck catches you.” Peter paused, and when he next spoke his words were coated in pliant vulnerability: “Tell – tell May that I love her.”

Tony couldn't see the expression on Happy's face, but he saw the way his whole countenance softened imperceptibly. “Will do, kid. Be safe.”

Happy left the way he came – silently.

_And then there were two..._

“Mr. Stark,” Peter began.

(And – fuck. Tony really shouldn't like the way the appellation of his name fell from Peter's pretty mouth; the way his lips curved and stretched around the syllables, promising something so darkly delectable Tony could hardly think straight. He was wrapped around Peter Parker's little finger, and powerless to stop it. Didn't want to stop it. Could care less about the power imbalance, the age difference, the fact that they'd both started down the same path except somewhere along the road, Peter had died and then Tony had died, and now Tony was alive and Peter was a badass supervillain with no scruples for terrorism.

Except. No. Those thoughts were treacherous and abhorrent; they weren't acceptable when Peter was just the friendly neighbourhood superhero and they sure as hell weren't allowed now just because the kid was older – also: wanted for trial, or possibly just an outright killing, government officials weren't fussy. Tony was a married man. He had a _kid_. It'd been _ten years_ since 2018, since they last time they'd both been together in a happy, familiar setting – although only five years had passed for the both of them. The wrong five years. He really should have gotten a handle on it sooner.)

“I know you’re awake,” Peter said coldly. The words were like icicles; sharp. “No need to keep pretending. I can hear you – loud and clear.”

Tony gave up the charade, rising into an unforgiving sitting position that was unforgiving on his back. His bones creaked in protest.

“If this is your best defence then you've gotta change,” he said, raspy from misuse. “Your tough guy act doesn't work on me, kid. I'm not scared of you.” Perhaps the worst thing about that statement: it was true. And nothing Peter could do would change that.

Peter’s face belied nothing. A thousand secrets lurked beneath his impassive countenance, and Tony no longer possessed the skill set to decode them. He was flying blind, here.

The kid Tony couldn’t live without stalked forward wordlessly, whatever Happy had given him still in hand.

Tony flinched at the feeling of cold metal sliding into his neck.

“It's truth serum,” said Peter, stepping away. The needle glinted where it caught the light. “No more lies. You owe me the truth for once in your pathetic existence, Beck,” he snarled. Tony started at the venom dripping from Peter's mouth, at the poison that laced his words. 

_What the hell happened between Beck and Peter?_

Tony swallowed. Spilling secrets wasn't really his style, particularly not in front of the one person he _really did not want_ knowing them. There were many reasons why it would be a monumentally bad idea for Peter to have unadulterated access to the confinements of Tony Stark's brain – most notable of them being that Peter was an international supervillain who would only take advantage of whatever information Tony greedily gave – but that wasn't what worried him. No, what had his stomach all knotted was the small matter of his feelings for the kid in front of him. 

God. He was royally fucked. 

“Go on then, kid,” he said with a bravado that was only partly forced. “Ask away.”

Peter’s stare was piercing and as unflinching as stone.

Then, “You're not wearing your wedding ring.”

Uh. No. No, he wasn't. Fuck. Was that really all five years of marriage pared down to? Just an empty space on a finger, one that Tony really _should_ have remembered. No one could accuse Tony of holding the world record for Nostalgia, but even this was crossing some unwritten rule.

(– Then again: wasn't harbouring unrequited feelings for your dead mentee another No-Go? Probably. Their marriage had withstood that.)

Tony never acted on his treacherous feelings for several reasons, not the least of them being that they were agonisingly unrequited. Plus, Tony was happy with Pepper, who was fantastic, amazing, and everything Tony had never dared to believe could be his. 

But Peter...

Tony would do anything for that fucking kid. Whatever he wanted.

The truly awful part of him still would.  
Yeah, Pepper was his wife on paper _(were they still even married?)_ – but Peter? Peter was the love of his life. Whatever kind of love, Tony would give. Platonic, romantic. Tony was Peter's to command, to order. All Peter would have to do was stay with him.

Fuck. And here Tony thought he didn't have it bad.

“No, I'm not,” he said. The honesty was torn from him, a dizzying spell. “And why would that mean that I'm not real?”

To his faint amusement, pink splotches blemished Peter's cheeks. Tony's heart jumped at the sight. That was a quintessentially _Peter_ reaction; the Peter Tony knew and lo–

Anyway. 

Peter's embarrassment at the stark implication was also another mystery Tony would love to tinker with. Regretfully, they didn't have the time, and Tony wasn’t the one calling the shots.

“Say something,” Peter prompted, much to Tony’s perpetual confusion.

“Say what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Anything you can possibly think of to convince me that you’re really Mr. – who you say you are,” Peter elaborated with flat affect, as though reading from a practiced script. To Tony, the whole scenario felt rather like a scene from one of those black-and-white films his mother always favoured. “And, when you fail to do so, you can tell me what Beck wants this time.”

Tony accepted the challenge, on the premise that Peter would actually _believe_ whatever Tony said – on the basis that, you know, he had just been injected with a drug that was apparently marketed for truth – however, Peter seemed entirely unfamiliar with the game plan, and was perfectly content to throw out the rulebook in favour of his own judgement.

“What do you want me to do? How can I prove it's me?” Tony scrambled to find a solution. “You apologised for dying in my arms. You said _I'm sorry,_ and all I did was watch.” Strangely, it felt weirdly... therapeutic to hash it out. Cathartic, almost. 

Peter wavered and for a brief moment Tony thought this was it. But then Peter's eyes hardened, muscle jumping in his jaw as he took a step back. Fuck. He was doing this all wrong.

“I suppose you must have got that from E.D.I.T.H.,” Peter said instead.

Raw exasperation tore from Tony’s throat. “Why even stick me with truth serum if you're gonna shoot down everything I say?”

“Because you're not Mr. Stark,” Peter hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. “He's _gone_. He _died_. And here you are using his face to maintain your cowardice, parading around like you're worthy to even mention his name.”

Oh, god. There was so much buried deep within that sentence; the facsimile so startlingly intimate, it was as though Peter was the one intoxicated under truth serum. But. Wow. Even after all this time... Peter was _reverent_. Possibly in part due to some glamorisation of the dead, and an idealisation Tony in no way deserved yet would snatch like a thief in the night anyway.

_Kid, it’s me_, Tony wanted to say, to scream into the void, to shout to the world. _I came back._ Tony came back, and Peter... Peter...

He didn’t know where Peter was, anymore.

Nevertheless, Tony played the game. Had no choice, really, the truth ripped from him like an unfinished melody every time. He parroted meaningless trivia details about Peter, hoping one would resonate.

Layer by layer, Tony decrypted Peter, stripping him bare before his eyes. It was quite the role reversal – with every honest message torn from Tony’s windpipe, without even the slightest whimper of resistance, Peter was powerless, reacting to each syllable like a dagger.

Peter was imperceptibly shaking. “How can I be sure that you're not Beck?” 

Tony abandoned all pretence of answering, truth serum only enhancing his protective instincts, crying out to erase the heartbreak on Peter's face. “What can I do? Tell me. How can I make it better? I'll do anything, Pete, anything. I swear.”

Because Tony was Peter's. Some fucked up part of him had always been Peter's long before he'd held his breaking body as he crumbled to dust on an alien part.

“I want to believe,” Peter whispered. “I really, really do. But – I _can’t_. I don’t know if I can...” he broke off with a frustrated growl, articulation be damned.

Tony was silent. “Do you remember what you told me when I recruited to fight for me?” Yet another of Tony’s mistakes presented like an archaic museum exhibit; superhero mentoring at its finest. “When I asked you why you became Spider-Man, you said: _when you can do the things that I can, and you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.”_

At some point during the fragile interrogation, Peter had inched closer to where Tony was manacled to the bed post. In this angle, Tony could see tears formulate in the whites of Peter’s eyes, and it was that incentive that pushed Tony to complete his train of thought.

“You didn’t say it then, but it was your uncle. You blamed yourself for his death. _With great power comes great responsibility,_ you told me, later. You trusted me with your past, Pete, and that was – it was an honour.” 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter crumpled, Tony's name ripped from his throat like he was the one under the spell of honesty.

“That's it, sweetheart,” he said, pet name coming out of its volition. “I’m here. I'm real. I'm with you.” He wanted to say _I never left, _but the serum shunted that concept – Peter's broken spirit was proof of the lie in itself. “Please talk to me.”

But Peter was staring at him like Tony held the key to the universe: “It’s really you,” he murmured, a breathless exhalation of amazement.

Tony smiled, baffled at Peter’s response – more so at _why_, exactly, Peter was so keen to refute any claims of Tony’s resurrection.

“Yeah, kid. It’s really me.”

Tender fingers lightly cupped his jaw, smooth skin against the coarse texture of his beard, and Tony’s heart stuttered.

“I can’t believe it’s really _you_,” Peter mouthed, breath ghosting along Tony’s chin, as every inch of his features was scoured by Peter’s piercing gaze.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You're so messed up you make me look like a walk in the park,” Tony said, and then regretted the callous words as soon as they formed, but the truth serum refused to return them back to Tony’s windpipe.

The raw honesty powering the words didn't lend itself to humour, yet Peter laughed all the same. Tony's heart clenched at the sound; visions of late-night lab sessions and training exercises five years past swimming in his head, bringing with them all those nagging Peter Parker Feelings that never failed to make Tony lose his train of thought, until he could think of was Peter.

Tony shook his head, banishing the memories. They served no purpose in the here and now. Time had moved on – Peter held no such regard for Tony, whether five years ago or in the present day – so he had to Stop It, Now.

Peter unchained Tony with shaky hands, showcasing none of his steadiness. Looked like Tony wasn’t the only one affected by the high emotional concentration.

“Kid,” Tony said, rubbing his wrists where the handcuff had bitten into them. Peter had the good grace to look apologetic. Except. Now was no time to start beating around the bush. “What the hell happened?”

* * *

Tony wasn't entirely certain he was sure what he was expecting – but it sure as hell wasn't _this_. 

Peter didn't cry, and Tony did. By the time Peter finished regaling him of the events of the past five years, Tony was shocked to find tears wet his voice as he whispered apologies that were unable to make up for the horrors Peter had to endure in his absence. 

_Never again_, Tony fiercely vowed, _I'll never let him do it alone. _

“And you've been on your own ever since?”

“Mostly. Happy stops by when he can, but with the advancements the Avengers have made, he can't risk getting caught, and he's gotta protect May. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s super helpful as well, and Karen is fun to talk to. I haven't seen May since...” Peter didn't need to finish the sentence.

“I take it there’s been no one special,” Tony hedged, uncertain whether he even wanted to know the answer.

“Well, it's kinda hard to get some when everyone thinks you're a spidery superhero-turned-superterrorist,” Peter said defensively, arms crossed and studiously avoiding Tony's gaze.

It was wrong on so many levels how part of Tony managed to breath easier at that knowledge, while simultaneously aching at the thought of Peter being all alone, forced to forgo contact with his last living relative. 

“So,” Tony redirected. “The compound is home now?”

More shuffling. “Yeah. Can't get anywhere else. Plus, you left all your nanotech stuff in storage, and it didn't take me long to bypass your security system. No offence, but I think you're getting rusty in your old age.”

It was a bad joke, but Tony cracked a slight smile anyway, coupled with a perfunctory nudge. It harkened back to old times, when it was Peter and Tony against the world.

“How do you know who's real, and who's fake?” It was a question that had been on the forefront of Tony’s mind. Judging by Happy’s secretive approach when he handed the serum to Peter, injecting someone with a biological lie detector didn’t seem to be the go-to.

Peter chewed on his lip, worry lines biting into the crinkles on his forehead. “Before, it was easier. We'd ask each other to say something only they would know, but then Beck improved your E.D.I.T.H. tech to hijack the hippocampi of _everyone_. Essentially, he had everyone's memories.”

_Jesus_. Tony tried not to gag. 

Peter, misreading Tony's silence, scrambled to add, “But it's okay, though, Mr. Stark. I managed to create earpieces that cancelled out Beck's wavelength, so we all just wear them. So far, it seems to be working. I'll make you one as soon as the vibranium comes in.” His words came out messy and hurried, arms flapping in such a manner that it was like looking in a time machine. And Tony would know, having done just that. 

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat, a hard task, admittedly. “God, kid... You're fucking miraculous.”

He really didn't deserve the dazzling smile that lit up Peter's face at the small sliver of praise, just a fraction of the verbal gold star Peter was owed. A knot loosened in Tony's stomach at the breath-taking sight. _How could he resist him?_

“Happy said–” Peter started before biting his lip. _There_ was the youthful innocence Tony knew and loved; the bashful expression that never failed to make Tony weak at the knees. Tender and vulnerable all that same time. “Happy said once that he didn't think you would've done what you did – Thanos... and everything – if you didn't know that I would still be here.”

Tony blinked. “Glad to know my reasons are so obvious, but it’s the truth and nothing but the truth, kid.”

An ephemeral pause, and then:

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered. “I really want to kiss you.”

Tony's throat clenched at the confession. His speech faculty faltered, the connection from his brain's Broca's area temporarily misplaced.

Peter bit his lip, reading Tony’s silence as rejection. Before he had to see Peter turn away, to witness Peter _leaving_ – Tony lifted his palm to softly hold Peter’s cheek, bringing his lips down to Peter’s.

In comparison to the first kiss, it was Tony who lead this one. He cradled the back of Peter's head with one hand, carding his fingers through those curls that had featured in many of his dreams, and gently palmed his waist with the other. Peter whimpered against him, reaching up to grip him by the lapels of his jacket – to ground himself, Tony presumed. He empathised; somehow, kissing Peter with a slow, sensual deepness triggered an involuntarily emotional onslaught, as every feeling he'd ever had for the kid who'd stuck his way into his heart ran to the forefront of his mind, and he consciously channelled all that _love_ into the kiss. He tasted the reciprocity on Peter's tongue, and decided he'd never sampled anything sweeter.

Peter broke the kiss, pulling away to breath harshly. Tony took advantage of this by pressing a tender kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. The whine he got in response, he decided, was the greatest thing he'd ever heard. 

However, he tensed as Tony mouthed at his neck, and Tony immediately froze at the sign of hesitance. The only sounds he could hear were Peter's greedy gasps for air, mingling with Tony's own.

The seconds ticked by like an eternity, both frozen in their respective plights, before Peter tilted his head, and bared his neck to Tony. Tony was choked with emotion at the display of trust from the person Tony treasured above all. He pressed the softest of kisses against Peter's raging pulse point, and grinned like a besotted teenager when Peter melted into him.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter breathed, torn from somewhere deep in his throat. His lips were kissed red, swollen and gorgeous, and his eyes were glazed over. The sound of his honorific – a name he never factored into his fantasies, and now so deeply wished he had – caused a strong surge of arousal to punch somewhere deep.

But, no. Bad Tony. Time and a place.

“Name's Tony, kid,” he said. “You don't have to wait until I'm dying in a battle to say it.”

It was intended as a lame-ass joke, although it was subpar and extremely lacking, wasn't at all up to scratch with his usual quips, yet Peter's crestfallen face slapped him of any amusement. The surge of guilt overwhelmed him.

“Don't say that,” Peter whispered softly. “Please? Please don't joke about that.”

Tony thought about Titan then, and of Peter fading away in his arms, and how it would feel if Peter made a similar joke. He pressed his forehead against Peter's, luxuriating in the feel of his breath fanning his face, tasting it, and deciding he'd never had anything sweeter. 

“Got it. No mentions of death or dying. Duly noted.” He couldn't resist sneaking past Peter's defences to place a quick kiss on the corner of his lips.

Peter’s shy small was a picture – worth every syllable of those thousand words.

“So,” Tony queried. “What do you do around here for fun? Recite the periodic table back to front?”

Peter hunched his shoulders, posture screaming defence at Tony’s good-natured quip. “No. Sometimes I watch _Star Wars._”

A bubble of laughter rose in Tony’s throat. Even when Peter was being hunted, framed for treason and terrorism, he was still so ludicrously _Peter_. To his pleasure, Peter dropped his shields enough to grant him a half smile. 

It was a start. 

“Come on then, kid,” Tony said, brandishing a raised arm. He beckoned Peter crawl to his side, and ordered him to put on that ‘really old movie’. 

He felt whole for the first time in years when Peter curled up against him, warm head leaning against the scar tissue of his arc reactor. He was hesitant, gentle, as though afraid Tony would break. Carding his fingers in Peter's hair, lightly grazing his scalp in soothing circular motions, loosened the tension from his form, and Tony couldn't hold back his sigh of relief when Peter fully relaxed against him, even going so far as to throw an arm around his stomach.

Just for this one night, they could lose themselves in the conflict of fictional characters, and bask in the presence of the other. Tomorrow, they could face the music. Tonight was for rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it! :)


	3. The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. I am so terribly sorry that it's taken me forever to finally finish this. I literally have no excuse. The end is rather short, but I like to think it fits. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the finale! ;)

When Tony awoke this time, he noted that he was not tied to the bedpost – a fact his arms took great delight in. Unfortunately, though, he awoke alone, and to the sight of Peter Parker’s turned back. 

“Kid? What are you doing?”

Peter whirled around, as though not having anticipated Tony’s early rising.

“Packing,” he said flatly. “Give me half an hour, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

_What? _

Tony vocalised the sentiment. “What are you talking about?” He rose from the bed, striding over to where Peter was – maintaining a respectable distance from him, but just close enough so that Peter could reach out for him if he so wished. “Why are you leaving?”

“Can’t stay in one place too long,” Peter responded, eyes never leaving his organised mess. “Can’t risk being caught.”

Tony nodded. Made sense. “Okay. Let me take over. I just need to leave a few messages, and then I’ll be right there with you–”

Brown eyes rose to challenge Tony’s. “No!” A shirt was thrown, rumpled, into the overflowing, unfolded chaos of the kid’s suitcase. “You’re staying here. You can – make up some story, tell the press whatever the hell you like, I don’t care. But I’m leaving, and you’re staying.”

Tony’s head felt like he’d hurled it through a blender. “So, last night was just, what, goodbye? I thought that you–” he managed to cut himself off from revealing too much. “Why did you let me stay last night? Why did you act like we were gonna be in this _together_ if you were always planning to leave me?”

“Because!” Frustration laced Peter's words. “It was just. One night,” he explained. “One night, where I could be me again, and you could be you, and we didn't have to be anybody else. Where we could just be together, and not have to worry about anything else.” Peter wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve as discreetly as he could manage. “That's all it was supposed to be, Mr. Stark. Just one night. A once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Nothing more.”

It made sense. Peter was tired and haggard and weary of this life; of a life Tony had all but carved out in a gravestone for him. To an extent, Tony could empathise. All he wanted was to go back ten years. Back when Tony was not really/alright, maybe a little bit/completely and utterly 100% in love with Peter.

Back when Tony _had_ Peter.

“Kid, we can be together,” Tony added, stressed. “You and me, right here and now. I’m a mechanic. What do you think I do for a living?” Quietly, “Let me help you.”

Peter barked a harsh laugh, the discordant sound grating on Tony's throbbing migraine. It went against the laws of fairness – to have Peter so disillusioned, so beaten, so torn down. It was all wrong. Peter should never be like that; that was a Tony Stark façade. That expression had no business displaying itself on a Peter Parker face. 

“What?” Peter snapped. “You think I can just wave the white flag, apologise for everything I _haven't_ done, and I'll suddenly be accepted back into society? And, then what, live with you? Right, yeah, Morgan will love that. It's not as if I haven't traumatised her after I _tried to kill her.”_

Tony couldn't breathe. “No, no. You _didn't_–”

“Of course I didn't! But Beck loves to wear my face for the personal attacks. Loves the show of intimacy as he slices those I try and protect.”

Peter's eyes glistened with tears, but they weren't shed for Morgan. No, Tony realised with sickening clarity, those tears were for his best friends. 

Ned. MJ. 

Bile rose in his mouth, and Tony tried not to choke on it. Peter didn't need Tony's belated apologies, ones that would inevitably provide no justification for their murders – no, Peter needed Tony to be strong, for the both of them.

A hard task, admittedly, but when had Tony ever not risen to challenges?

And if there was one thing Tony Stark did when he was trying to read a situation, it was talk. “Y'know, I hated Steve, for what he did to me,” he started, probably a little too casually, judging by the pinched look on Peter's face. “For breaking up the team, for lying to me, _betraying_ me.”

Tony had to pause, gather his bearings. Even now, just over a decade later, the nauseating ache threatened to tear its stitches and bleed into his tone. He honestly hadn't expected the raw vulnerability when he chose this as a conversation starter – or maybe it was Peter's situation that was bleeding over into this recounting of Siberia. Either way, Tony had to take stock before proceeding. Peter was uncharacteristically silent during this process (or maybe this was now the new characteristic; the new normal for Peter Parker? No. Stop it.) so Tony reluctantly pressed on. Peter deserved true honesty, regardless, and this serum was only too willing to comply.

“I never understood it. How he could just betray everyone, all to save one person.” Tony swallowed. Fuck. This was the hard part. “I didn't get it, before, but I do now. Kid, I'd throw it all away for you. Every fucking thing I have. I'd tear my own goddamn heart out for you.”

Okay. Too far now. Dial it back a bit – or several bits.

Peter's brow scrunched up adorably. “Mr. Stark, what are you saying?”

“Pete, I'm saying I'm all in. I've _been_ all in, even when you handcuffed me up to your bed – which, by the way, I'm a massive fan of, and feel free to do again.”

Hope flared on Peter’s face for one glorious fraction of a second, before shuttering away into the night. “No, no. I can't – can't ask you to give up everything just for me.”

“Well, that's good, because you're not asking. I'm telling you: I am never going to leave you. That's the one thing I can't do.” Tony sniffed. “Besides, you'll be doing me a favour actually. Keeping me from fucking up Morgan's life because, let's face it, that was always a guarantee.”

“No!” Peter countered. “Stop saying stuff like that to me. You're supposed to _go_. Get outta here. Tell the world how you faced Spider-Man and lived to tell the tale.” Peter flailed about with his arms. “You're still everyone's favourite superhero, Mr. Stark. Don't screw it up on my account.”

“Yeah? Well, Spider-Man is my favourite superhero. So, I guess we're at a bit of an impasse, aren't we?” _To put it mildly_.

Peter groaned. Gesticulating wildly, he countered, “No, we're not. This is _not_ an impasse – this is an impasse-free zone. We are impasse-less. _We_ are nothing. _You_ retired being a superhero, gave up on Iron Man. _I_ have been on my own for years now. I don't need you.”

That last sentence damn near broke him, the painful honesty burying a dagger in his heart, but Tony pressed on. Just because Peter didn't need him didn't mean that Tony wasn't just gonna stop trying. 

“The whole reason I gave up Iron Man was because of you. You were my reason, and when you _died_,” the familiar ache inside of Tony threatened to consume him, choking the life right out of him, but he had to say this, Peter deserved the truth – “Iron Man died with you.”

“You should go,” Peter repeated monotonously, eyes trained on a spot just above Tony's shoulder. “You have a wife and a daughter – don't give that up.”

“Kid, if you think I could ever leave you, then you've got another thing coming,” Tony confessed. “I'm yours. I've always been yours; I always will be yours.”

Irritation coloured the sharp contours of the kid’s face, bleeding into his tone as he countered: “No. I’m not some – some – some fall-back option just because you're scared the world you left isn't the same one you came back to. I'm not some convenient excuse for you to use just so you have an out; a reason to become Iron Man again.”

Tony’s temper flickered. “A convenient excuse? That’s what you think you are?”

Peter scoffed, but his eyes shot straight to Tony’s – point-blank. And Tony... couldn’t get a read on him.

“Kid, don't you trust me?”

Peter didn't respond. Eyes never leaving Tony's face.

And there it was: the crux of the matter. The blinding crescendo of deceit and betrayal, held up with a fragile bow of love.

There was only one thing left to say. The one thing – the only thing – he swore he would never reveal, keeping it locked in the dark recesses of his mind, vowing never to let it see the light of day.

Tony took a deep breath, and confessed his greatest crime:

“Peter, I love you.”

The only sound was the nervous stutter of Tony’s damaged heart.

“What?” Peter croaked.

For a moment, deep-rooted preservation instincts urged him to recoil, to refute. Emotional vulnerability was not exactly Iron Man’s thing. Iron would sooner break than bend, for anything.

Anything, that was, except for Peter Parker – the exception to the rule.

“I love you,” Tony repeated, and witnessed as the vibranium walls Peter enshrouded himself with came tumbling down with three beautifully tiny little words.

“You..._love_ me?” Doubt clouded his tone. “Not _loved_ me? You still love me?”

“Yes,” Tony stressed, lips curving into a smile despite himself, despite their current situation. “I have never stopped loving you, kid, and I’m not about to start anytime soon.”

Looking into Peter Parker’s face was like watching the morning sun break through the holes of the clouds, vanquishing the darkness. It stole the breath from Tony’s lungs, and rerouted his brain to his heart. Tony could look at Peter all day – all day, every day. That was _all_ Tony wanted to do. Just be by his side, having his back.

With no prior notification, no warning, Peter practically launched himself into Tony’s arms, causing them both to stumble back as they caught their balance beneath their shared weight.

“Does this mean I’m coming with you?” Tony asked, breathless with exhilaration.

Peter laughed, cried. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth. “I love you, too,” he smothered tenderly against Tony’s lips.

Tony tightened his hold, and did not let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed the end!
> 
> Thank you all for staying with me throughout this fic. I could not have made it without you all. I love you all so much! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you guys think.


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